The Flirt, the Watcher and the Warehouse
by Anyankaholic
Summary: Years before Jack Harkness was running Torchwood 3 and years before Rupert Giles was training a Slayer, they met in Cardiff while working an unusual case.
1. An Odd Occurrence

AN: This story takes place in the 1970s, before either "Buffy: the Vampire Slayer" or "Torchwood." Captain Jack Harkness had already met the Doctor and now works for Torchwood. Rupert Giles is in his 20s and is a junior Watcher with the Council.

**The Flirt, the Watcher and the Warehouse**

**Chapter 1**

**An Odd Occurrence**

Rupert Giles could kill Linton Travers. "Go to Wales, Mr. Giles. See what's going on, Mr. Giles." That arrogant ass should not be running the Council. He should be the target when the Slayer practices throwing daggers.

If it weren't for Linton Travers, Rupert would not be in the mess he was in now. He would be at home — with a tea, a good book, maybe a lady-friend. He certainly would not be being held captive in an abandoned warehouse that smelled strongly of urine and rotten seafood in Cardiff, Wales.

"Any ideas?" he asked the man bound next to him.

"Well, some," said the man, winking as he said it, "but none that would get us out of this situation … although they do involve the restraints."

Rupert rolled his eyes, remaining focused on the task at hand and not the overt flirting from the man next to him. The past couple of days had been … interesting. Between discovering the existence of aliens and warding off Captain Jack Harkness' advances, Rupert had had an exhausting two days.

And, when he thought back, all of that blame lay with Linton Travers for sending him to Wales. Travers had considered it a punishment — although, why getting to visit Wales was a punishment, was a mystery to Rupert — for Rupert's insistence that Travers' son was an incompetent fool. The man had clearly mistranslated that scroll and — rather than thank Rupert and fix the error—he sent Rupert away to chase leprechauns.

And now he was being held captive by aliens, in a disgusting warehouse, with a man who was doing everything in his power to get Rupert into the kip.

Two days ago, Rupert had been sitting in his cubicle in the Council basement, trying to decipher an ancient scroll that he believed just to be some profanities, but that his boss believed to be important, when Linton Travers had deigned to appear among the lowly junior Watchers.

"Mr. Giles," began Travers, always one to use proper titles, although his beastly son insisted on called Rupert "Ripper," a reminder that his past would never be forgotten. "I'm afraid I need you to go to Wales. I am dreadfully sorry about this, but the Watchers upstairs fully believe there to be some sort of Chaos spell at work in Cardiff."

"What kind of spell specifically?" asked Rupert, eager to help. Magic was something he knew very well. Perhaps they needed him to go to Cardiff and cast a counter-spell.

"Oh, we're not sure," answered Travers vaguely. "It's probably nothing."

"Oh," said Rupert, a bit deflated. "Well, what does seem to be the problem then? Young virgins being sacrificed? Animals slaughtered? A bacchanalia in the streets?"

"Nothing of the sort," said Travers, somewhat horrified by what the young Mr. Giles had thought up. No proper Englishman would allow such things to occupy his mind unless he must by the necessity of his job. Mr. Giles' job did not necessitate it in Linton Travers' opinion. "There have been hospitalizations, Mr. Giles. People eating strange objects. We believe that a witch in those parts perhaps marred a spell and it resulted in this. So, just pop on down there and see what it is."

"Yes, Sir," said Rupert, now recognizing this for what it was. A punishment. He was going to trek all the way to Cardiff, only to discover that there was nothing happening. Sometimes he truly hated all the stiff, tweed-wearing Watchers at the Council. Those ponces had even made him take out his earring. Because that's what the Council needs: more automatons.

After that lackluster meeting with Travers, Rupert had gone to Martha, Travers' secretary, and gotten the file. Although the case was nowhere near as dramatic as Rupert would have liked, it did catch his interest. So far, there had been seven hospitalizations in Cardiff. The first man had been admitted to hospital after he began vomiting blood. Upon further investigation, the doctors had discovered that he had been compulsively eating paperclips for the past five or so days. The second man had been eating paste non-stop and refusing to eat anything else. The third man had spent a night in jail after his wife rang the police, telling them that her husband had assaulted her. He just couldn't stop eating his wife's hair. After observing him for 24 hours, the police transported him to hospital, having come to the conclusion that the man was positively bonkers. The fourth victim, a woman this time, was eating strike-anywhere matches, which had caused some pain and smoky burps. The fifth man had died after drinking bleach. The sixth woman had been apprehended by police in the park as she ate pinecone after pinecone, scaring the locals; and these were people who had lived through the drug-fueled previous decade. The final victim, a teenager, had died after ingesting copious amounts of phone directory pages, completely plugging his innards.

The case had a certain touch of the macabre that spoke to Rupert. He had always had a bit of a dark side and he found that side stroked by this case. Also, he was just happy to be let out of the basement. If he could prove himself doing small tasks like this, the Council would see how clever and proficient he was, and they were certain to make him Watcher to a Slayer. He knew that the chances of that happening were slim, as there were far more Watchers than there were Slayers, but a man could dream.

Rupert rushed home to his small flat and packed a bag. He didn't have a car, so he would have to rely on public transportation. He spent the entire train ride poring over the file until he practically had it memorized. First things first, he would go speak to the first victim, who was still in the hospital.

Afan Smith was perfectly genial. He welcomed Rupert to his hospital room and had a rather pleasant chat with him. Afan didn't seem crazy. He knew he had been eating paper clips; he simply did not see anything weird about it. "Some men drink themselves to death," he explained to Rupert, "and some men eat blowfish, knowing it could kill them. What is so odd about eating paper clips?"

"Well," answered Rupert, "alcohol and blowfish could be considered food. Paper clips really couldn't." Afan harrumphed at that, so Rupert switched the topic slightly. "So, have you always enjoyed eating paper clips?"

"It's the strangest thing," replied Afan. "I had never even considered eating a paper clip before this week, but now that I've had them, I can't imagine not eating them. They're just delicious."

"What made you start eating them?" asked Rupert.

"I really don't know. I was just sitting in my office, about to use a paper clip, when it just looked really appetizing. So I figured what the hell?"

Choosing his words carefully — although not carefully enough — Rupert asked, "Have you ever participated in Satan worship?"

"What?" asked Afan, outraged. "I am G-d-fearing Christian, I'll have you know."

"So, no witchcraft?" asked Rupert as he backed out of the room. "Or pagan worship?" He ducked out just as a tray came flying at his head.

Rupert heard pretty much the same story from the four other surviving victims. Whatever was affecting them was being caused by some external force. They had nothing to do with it.

Rupert returned to his motel room and began to research demons and spells that could cause obsessive-compulsive eating behavior in their victims. He was coming up empty, but did not want to call the Council and let them know how miserably he felt he was failing. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

He was just starting on his twelfth book and his sixth Anacin when the police scanner he'd left turned on finally spewed out something useful. Rupert grabbed his windbreaker and headed back to the emergency wing at the hospital.

When he got there, he found chaos. The doctors were carting a man, who was vomiting blood, into surgery and a woman — possibly his wife — stood looking at him fearfully and sobbing. After the man disappeared behind the O.R. doors, Rupert was going to approach the wife on the pretext of comforting her and actually question her.

Unfortunately for him, someone else got there first. The man was tall, with piercing blue eyes and wearing a long, WWII military greatcoat. The man moved with the easy confidence that usually accompanied undeserved arrogance. He just swished over to the woman, placed a comforting arm around her and began to lead her away.

Rupert could not let that happen.

After fetching a cup of water from the cooler, Rupert rushed over and placed an arm around the woman while also pushing the man's arm off of her. "There, there," he soothed, handing her the water. "I'm here now, don't worry," he said, pretending to know the woman. Turning to the man, he said, "Thank you so very much, but I have it from here."

The man tried to protest, arguing that he should come with them and help. Rupert was shocked to hear that the man had an American accent. "No thank you," said Rupert kindly but firmly. The man was left frozen in place as he watched the woman be led away from him.

Once Rupert got the woman away, he led her to an empty area in the emergency ward, sat her down on the edge of a bed, and pulled the curtain closed around them. "I'm a Special Constable with MPS," said Rupert, lying through his teeth. If she asked to see some identification, he knew he was smoked. He just hoped that his years of being a juvenile delinquent had taught him how to lie adequately enough that she wouldn't think anything was amiss. Clearly she didn't, because her eyes just widened and she silenced her crying enough to be able to hear him better.

"How c-can I help you, Constable?" she asked, less hysterical but more frightened now.

"We are investigating a number of odd incidents here in the United Kingdom and our inquiries have led us to Wales. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't understand," she said. "What would London police be doing here in Cardiff, especially for Gareth?"

"That is what I am trying to find out, dear lady. Now tell me what happened to Gareth." The woman's jaw clenched up at the order. Seeing this, Rupert altered his tack. "You see, my boss sent me to find out if there is a Cardiff connection to his case and I honestly don't even know what I am doing here. Could you please be a dear and just help me out, Mrs. …"

"Parry, Bethan Parry," supplied Bethan, with a slight purse to her lips, as if she did want to help the nice young constable, but still felt she shouldn't.

"Thank you, Bethan. May I call you Bethan?" asked Rupert, pouring on the charm.

"It's my name, isn't it?" she answered.

"So, Bethan, what happened to Gareth?"

"I don't know," she said, beginning to cry again. "He was fine yesterday, but then this morning I noticed that a bunch of my plants were missing."

"Your plants?" prodded Rupert.

"My orchids, my peonies, my oleanders! I've won prizes for them, you know. But this morning they were gone. I looked everywhere for them, but I couldn't find them." She paused here and sniffled. "So then I asked Gareth. I admit, I thought maybe he threw them away. He was always complaining about the orchids, thought they were pretentious." She stopped here and just gazed off into space.

"Well, did he throw them away?" asked Rupert, already knowing the answer.

"No," she whispered. "He ate them. He told me straight out. But he's not crazy, he's not. He just … I don't know. Maybe it's a midlife crisis or something — you read about those in the paper."

"Why is he headed into surgery then?" asked Rupert. "Was it the oleandrin in the oleanders?" he asked, referring to the cardiac glycoside toxin found in the flowers.

"No," she said, crying harder now. "It was my cacti."

"Your cacti?" Rupert asked, now feeling faintly queasy.

"I begged him not to eat it, but he wouldn't listen to me," she said. "He was crying as the cactus spines dug into his mouth, but he kept chewing and swallowing. Then he started throwing up blood. It was horrible."

"And, has he ever displayed this type of behavior before?" asked Rupert, again already knowing the answer.

"No, I usually can't even get him to eat salad. He's never been much into plants," she said, then, catching herself, "well, spliff. But that was the '60s. Everyone was doing it."

Chuckling softly, despite his efforts to remain professional, Rupert quickly got hold of himself again and clarified, "I meant, has he ever displayed odd eating behaviors before? Eating non-food items?"

"No, never," said Bethan.

"Has he come across anything odd lately?" asked Rupert. "Any odd people or objects?"

"Why?" asked Bethan, growing suspicious again.

"Well," dithered Rupert, "sometimes odd behavior can be brought on by a chemical or some other foreign agent such as a germ or a parasite. Has Gareth traveled anywhere unusual for him recently?"

"No," said Bethan, after contemplating his question. "Nothing like that. I don't know why he's doing this."

"Well thank you very much," said Rupert soothingly. "Would you like me to walk you back to the waiting area?"

"No, I can find my own way," said Bethan, before pulling back the curtain just enough to squeeze out.

Rupert remained for a moment and took a deep breath. He hated having to talk to people for his job. He knew he was good at it. He could get anyone to tell him anything — but that was the point. It always reminded him of his days of irresponsible and destructive youth, when he was abusing drugs and demons. He had been incredibly manipulative then … and it had resulted in the death of a friend. He much preferred to remain behind his desk for the near future, but he knew he would never get a Slayer assigned to him if he only remained behind a desk. After taking another deep breath, he pulled back the curtain.

And saw the man from before standing there smiling cockily at him.

Rupert felt his hackles rise; he did not like eavesdroppers. "So, how long have you been standing there like that waiting for me to open this curtain?" asked Rupert conversationally but with a hint of danger in his voice.

Ignoring his question, the man said, "You're pretty good at interrogating witnesses, especially about the extraterrestrial." _Extraterrestrial?_ wondered Giles, _What?_ "But you're clearly not with MPS. You work with UNIT," stated the man confidently.

"And what in tarnation is UNIT?" asked Rupert.

That seemed to throw the man off a bit. He had been so sure that this pretend-copper worked for UNIT. Now he felt somewhat unsure of himself. Well, the man wasn't going to let this stop him. He wanted answers and he would get them, even if he had to charm the pants off of the pretend-copper in front of him … literally. Putting on his most charming grin, he extended his hand for a shake. "Jack Harkness, Torchwood, nice to meet you."

Rupert hesitantly took the man's hand. "Rupert Giles," he said, not offering any more information.

"And who do you work for, Rupert?" asked Jack.

"Whom," corrected Rupert absent-mindedly. It had become second-nature to him to correct people's grammar; he could never abide misuse of the English language and, in his estimation, Americans were the worst offenders.

"All right," said Jack gamely, starting to lose his patience a little. Patience had always been one of the virtues he lacked, making his immortality quite the hassle sometimes. "For whom do you work, Rupert?" asked Jack with a catch of snark.

"I don't see why that should be any of your business," replied Rupert. "I also don't see what allows you to think you have the right to eavesdrop on me and my conversations."

"It's my job," said Jack, shrugging, not offering more.

"Yes," said Rupert, "with — what did you call it? — Torchwood?"

"Yeah," bit off Jack. "And as your employment is none of my business, I don't believe mine is any of yours."

"Agreed," said Rupert, as he pushed past Jack and out of the hospital.

Jack was left standing there, wondering what had just happened. Usually he gained the upper-hand rather quickly, but this man had undercut him rather easily.

Rupert returned to his motel room and quickly called one of his buddies, Harlow, at the Council, cashing in a favor. Within a few hours he would know everything the Council knew about Jack Harkness and Torchwood.

~ x ~ x ~

Jack Harkness was in a foul mood. Who did that other guy think he was? Cardiff was Jack's territory. He had been doing this job for a long time — too long — and he didn't need some young punk to come in here and mess with him. And he would call that guy a punk, with his hair just a tad too long — still neat, but with a hint of rebellion. He had a mark on his earlobe that Jack could have sworn was an earring hole. And just the man's attitude.

As much as he hated to admit it, Jack was kind of turned on. He found the man arrogant, obnoxious, disruptive, and sexy. It was moments like these that Jack cursed his libido; couldn't he just be angry like a normal person?

Returning to the Torchwood headquarters, Jack headed over to the research department. "Hey, Andrea," he said flirtatiously to the woman who worked in records. They had been sleeping together for a few months now and, because of that, Jack always got the information he needed. The other agents did not understand why Andrea always gave Jack what he wanted without delay but always made them jump through hoops filling out paperwork … although Jack thought they were beginning to catch on. Agent Tolo had recently bought Andrea some perfume. "Andy, I need all the information you can get on one Rupert Giles. The guy sounds English — kind of a BBC accent."

"Sure thing, Jack," said Andy, smiling. "Can it wait a half hour though?"

"I guess," said Jack. "Why? What are you doing?"

"I think you mean: 'What are _we_ doing?'" asked Andy, dragging Jack into a storage closet.

_Please leave me a review!_


	2. What do you mean 'aliens?

**The Flirt, the Watcher and the Warehouse**

**Chapter 2**

**What Do You Mean 'Aliens'?**

Rupert Giles' head hit the table rather hard as he was jolted awake by the phone ringing. "Hello," he grumbled, rubbing his head irritably.

_"It's Harlow."_

"Well?" asked Rupert, suddenly feeling very awake.

_"I think I have the information you wanted,"_ said Harlow.

"Give it to me," said Rupert, readying a pen and paper so he could take all the pertinent information down.

_"Torchwood is very difficult to track down and Jack Harkness even more so,"_ said Harlow. _"The Torchwood Institute was established in 1879 by Queen Victoria. Originally housed at the Torchwood Estate in Scotland, in recent years The Torchwood Institute has expanded, now with branches in London, Glasgow, and Cardiff, among other places."_

"Yes, but what do they do?" interjected Rupert.

_"According to my scarce resources, Queen Victoria established the institute to combat the alien threat."_

"Hmm, I didn't realize immigration was such a troublesome issue in the late 1800s," said Rupert.

_"It wasn't,"_ continued Harlow. _"Aliens as in extraterrestrials."_

"You mean, aliens like in 'Star Trek'?" asked Rupert disbelievingly. Demons and vampires his mind could grasp; Vulcans and Romulans it could not.

_"Yes,"_ answered Harlow, _"although decidedly less over-acted."_

"Could this organization be dealing with demons and simply not realize it?" asked Rupert, attempting to rationalize what he was hearing.

_"I don't believe so. It seems they have a great amount of evidence, such as spaceships. It appears that while the Watcher's Council, with the Slayer as its tool, keeps the demons at bay, this Torchwood Institute does the same with the aliens."_

"All right," said Rupert, slowly trying to digest this new information. "And what about Harkness? Have you uncovered anything on him?"

_"Very little,"_ admitted Harlow. _"He works for The Torchwood Institute and holds the rank of captain."_

After a pause, Rupert prodded, "And …"

_"And that is all I could reliably find."_

After mulling this over, Rupert asked slowly, "And what could you unreliably find?"

_"Well, Harkness has been around for a long, long time. The name keeps popping up, going back to the 1800s."_

"Well, surely it cannot be the same man … unless he is an 'alien,'" contributed Rupert.

_"I was able to dig up a photo of a man going by the name Jack Harkness back in 1934," said Harlow. "According to the diary of William Jacoby, the Watcher to that time's Slayer, this Harkness helped his Slayer fight some demons and then began a month-long affair with her."_

"What does this man look like?" asked Rupert.

_"Well, it's a rather grainy black-and-white photograph, but tall, dark hair …"_

"What is he wearing?" asked Rupert, remembering the man's old-fashioned coat.

_"A greatcoat,"_ answered Harlow, _"which is quite odd."_

"Why?"

_"Well, it seems to be anachronistic. The coat looks to be World War II-era and yet this photograph was taken in 1934."_

"The Jack Harkness I met was also wearing a World War II-era greatcoat," said Rupert.

_"Perhaps your man is this man's son,"_ offered Harlow.

"I don't think so," said Rupert. "I think they are the same person."

_"That is not possible,"_ argued Harlow.

"'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,'" quoted Rupert. Then, thinking better of it, he added, "Also, we protect the world from demons and yet you are unwilling to believe that one man could be more than 100 years old?" After receiving no response, Rupert continued, "I shall strive to stay away from this immortal man until I have uncovered the spell caster here and then I shall investigate him to the best of my ability."

_"Until Mr. Travers brings you back,"_ corrected Harlow.

"Until Mr. Travers brings me back," finished Rupert gamely, before hanging up the telephone.

~ x ~ x ~

"Hey, Andy, what do you have?" asked Jack as he re-entered Andy's domain of files and research.

"I have some information on one Rupert Giles, a.k.a. Ripper," announced Andy triumphantly, grinning at Jack.

"Ripper?" questioned Jack. "That's not really an upper-crust kind of name."

"No, it isn't," said Andy. "According to police reports, though, it is his nickname, or at least it was before he got involved with the organization he's with now."

"And what organization would that be, Andy?" asked Jack with a lazy grin, gamely playing along. Andy liked to drag out the reveal, keep you in suspense. Some of the agents found that irritating, but Jack just figured it was worth getting his information. Being nice to Andy got you the information you needed; spoiling her fun did not.

"The Watcher's Council."

"Never heard of 'em," said Jack.

"Me either," said Andy, "and I know everything."

"Well, that is your job."

"Precisely," said Andy. "Well, whoever these guys are, they are well connected and very old. It was nearly impossible to find out anything about Rupert Giles at all; this Council did good work scrubbing his files. I'll start with Ripper. Rupert Giles, a.k.a. Ripper, 28 years old, comes from a respected English family, and spent his youth in the most prestigious schools, straight-A student. When he turned 18, he went off to uni, Oxford to be precise, to study ancient languages."

"No kidding," interjected Jack.

"Really," continued Andy, quirking her eyebrows. "It seems that while he was going for his doctorate he either fell in with a bad crowd or just released his inner bad crowd. He got arrested a few times for vandalism and such; his grades tanked, causing him to drop out; and the police were seriously looking at him for the murder of one of his friends."

"Was he ever charged?" asked Jack.

"No, the police had no evidence," said Andy. "They weren't even certain that it _was_ him; it could have been any of his friends according to the police files — which, as I said, were very difficult to get a hold of. Anyway, after that incident, Ripper cleaned up his act. While he never got his doctorate, he did earn a master's degree and then he went to work for the Watchers Council."

"OK, so tell me about the Council."

"I had to call in a few favors to get you some information," said Andy in such a way that Jack knew he would have to repay her. And flowers were not going to cut it; mind-blowing sex was not going to cut it either. Once she was sure that Jack had gotten the message, Andy continued, "The Watchers Council has been around much longer than Torchwood, like by at least two millennia."

Jack let out a long, low whistle.

"Exactly. And get this, they apparently defend the human race against 'vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness.'"

Jack laughed. "Well, that's both very different and oddly familiar."

"I know, right," said Andy. "Do you think they could just be fighting aliens and not know it?"

"No," answered Jack. "I've run into things like this before. I hate to do this to you, Andy, but vampires are real. Back in the '30s I met this girl who fought vampires, helped her out a bit. I can assure you that this Council is not crazy."

"Wow," said Andy, taking it all in.

"Yeah," said Jack. After giving her a moment, he asked, "What else do you have?"

"That's it," said Andy, suddenly deflating. She had thought it was good information. The agents never respected how much work she had to do. Being in charge of records was no cake-walk. "But I think they're legit … in hunting vampires and stuff, I mean."

"What makes you say that?" asked Jack with a winning smile, mentally kicking himself for his earlier response. Rule No. 1: Stay on the good side of whoever controls records and research. He had been successful in this for more than 50 years, since he had learned the rule, and he had rarely messed up since. He planned to continue being friendly — or "friendly" — with research and records personnel — always.

"Whoever these guys are, they are somewhat backed by Her Majesty and by UNIT," said Andy, still glum. "If they were illegitimate, the Queen would not tolerate them: They receive public funding."

"That's pretty good proof," admitted Jack. "Phenomenal work, Andy. You know I couldn't survive without you." Jack then planted a kiss on her and left before he could do any more damage.

~ x ~ x ~

Rupert wandered around the estate, taking it all in. Four of the eight victims lived in this estate, and the rest in estates bordering this one. As far as he could tell, this estate was ground zero for the phenomenon. The odd eating habits began in this estate and were spreading outward; whatever was happening began here and he would end it here as well, before anyone else died.

Despite identifying this area as the source of the problem, Rupert still had no idea what specifically was causing the problem. He had not found any evidence of demons or witchcraft in the area. He had gone through some garbage bins and such and found nothing. He had sat and watched the people going in and out of the estate and found nothing odd there. They seemed like normal people, just going about their lives.

_Maybe it is aliens,_ thought Rupert worriedly. If it were aliens, there would be nothing he could do. All of his expertise was in demons and mysticism — things of the Earth. He would be severely out of his element if this turned out to be extraterrestrial in origin, and then he would have to return hangdog to Linton Travers, admitting that he had failed. Travers was not a man who accepted failure, never mind the reason. If he returned without having solved this problem, he could close the door on ever receiving a Slayer.

Nevertheless, there was a part of him that desperately wanted for the problem to be extraterrestrial in nature. Just think of it! Aliens! He had already seen so much in the demon world — to think that there was another world out there of which he had known nothing! The thought thrilled him. He had always sought knowledge in every form; sometimes he thought this might be why he had gotten into so much trouble as a youth. His schools and his father had always strictly controlled his learning, keeping him and his studies on the straight and narrow. And then he had met Ethan Rayne. Ethan had introduced him to a whole new world of magic, magic that was something other than an instrument in the fight against evil; it was suddenly in instrument to thrill, frighten, delight, and so much more. He became enchanted by it, drawn to it.

Pulling himself from his reflections, Rupert spun on the spot, looking for anything that could tell him what was going on here in Cardiff. He did not find anything that helped his case, but he did see proof that his day was about to get more interesting.

Walking toward him was one Captain Jack Harkness, Torchwood agent, and possible immortal.

"Well, hello Captain Harkness," called out Rupert warmly, realizing that, if this were alien in nature, he may need Harkness' help.

"I see someone's been doing some research," replied Jack congenially. "How are things going at the Watchers Council?"

"Very well, thank you," answered Rupert, finding himself smiling. Travers always took such pride in the esoteric nature of the Council; it would kill the man to know how quickly Harkness had gotten information. "It seems that we have both tracked the problem to Apple Estates."

"But you think it's demons, right?" asked Jack.

"It might be," replied Rupert noncommittally.

"Well I think it's aliens," offered Jack, wanting to see Rupert's reaction.

"It might be," repeated Rupert.

"Well, that's more open-minded than I was expecting," said Jack slowly.

"Captain Harkness, I deal with demons and magic on a daily basis, I think I can handle aliens as well," said Rupert. "It doesn't really change anything; I'm still who I was yesterday and the rest of the world is still spinning. When people learned that the Earth was round, it did not change daily life. They still needed to eat food, build shelters, make families. Life went on for them and it will go on for me."

"I wish everyone handled this information as well as you," said Jack with a degree of respect for the other man. "Also, it's Jack, not Captain Harkness. And I'll call you Rupert."

Swallowing his pride, Rupert forged ahead, "I think we should work together."

"Really?" asked Jack.

"Well, that way, no matter under whose purview this falls, we will both have some degree of closure. I am not a man who likes to leave mysteries unsolved."

"Me either," agreed Jack. "Well, two eyes are better than one."

"Technically, you and I working together would be four eyes," said Rupert, half joking and half seriously — he had a serious problem with correcting other people.

"Well, let's go then," said Jack, walking past Rupert. As he walked by, he squeezed Rupert's arse playfully, making Rupert jump.

"We will not be working together that closely," said Rupert stiffly, before turning to follow Jack.

"We'll see," said Jack, shrugging.

"Where are you going?" asked Rupert, trying to regain equilibrium.

"To find the proof that this is alien, not demon," responded Jack. Jack waited for a retort, but, when he did not receive one, he sighed and just gave a real answer, "I scanned for alien tech in the area and was led to this garage."

"Very well," said Giles, allowing the Torchwood agent to lead the way.

Approaching the garage, Jack pulled experimentally on the door, finding it locked. Looking around, Jack found a board that would do nicely to batter the lock until it broke. Raising the board over his head, he was about to bring it crashing down when he saw that the door was open.

"I picked it," said Rupert matter-of-factly.

"Well, then," said Jack, trying to get rid of the board in the most subtle way possible. "You'll have to show me how you did that so quickly."

"I'm not sure I should give away all my secrets," said Rupert.

Both men stepped into the garage at the same time and both spoke in unison: "Definitely alien."

They were confronted by what was clearly an alien spaceship. Rupert was a bit surprised to see that it did not look like a flying saucer. It was dented, made of some dull metal that Rupert could not place, and a rather long pod. There were cables running to and fro from the ship, connecting it to what looked like generators, possibly purchased locally. There were no windows in the ship, but there was a door and it was propped open.

"I'm going in," said Jack.

"Is that wise?" asked Rupert, putting a hand on Jack's arm to keep him back.

"Aw, are you worried about me?"

"No, I merely don't want to have to clean your blood from my clothing if that spaceship is booby-trapped."

"Your concern is touching," deadpanned Jack. "I doubt it's booby-trapped. See all those dents on the ship and the clouding on the metal — they crashed. They're probably too busy trying to get their ship flying again to bother with booby-trapping it."

"And who are 'they'?" asked Rupert, feeling his heart rate increase. He liked excitement, but this was a bit much. An alien spaceship!

"I won't know that until I go inside and look around," replied Jack a bit testily. With that, Jack headed inside while Rupert remained outside the ship, looking around a bit nervously, with his hand gripping the small dagger beneath his jacket.

Inside the ship, Jack saw what one would expect to see inside a spaceship: empty food wrappers; a few posters in an alien language; one well-tended, purplish plant; some dirty dishes; tools lying around; and what almost looked like a foosball table. It always made Jack laugh when he watched shows like "Star Trek" and "Lost in Space" and the ships were so orderly. People lived on these ships and people are, by definition, not pristine. This ship looked lived in and cozy. Clearly the crew of this ship, which he estimated to be six or seven, had been flying together for some time.

Jack moved over to study one of the posters more closely. The writing appeared to be Greinis, which would make these aliens Arktans from the northwest hemisphere of the planet Arktus. Not the least friendly aliens in the universe, but not the most friendly either. Jack could work with this … or so he thought until he heard the sounds of a struggle coming from outside the ship.

Stepping back into the garage, Jack saw Rupert surrounded by — yep, he guessed it — Arktans. Rupert was doing fairly well fending off the six aliens with nothing but a small knife, but it was clear to Jack, Rupert and the Arktans that Rupert could not keep it up for long.

Jack retreated back into the ship, looking for something, anything, that could help Rupert. He had a gun, but he could maybe get off two shots before he was taken down, and that would leave four Arktans for Rupert to fend off by himself, and it would make them a hell of a lot angrier. What he needed was a distraction. Seeing a big blue button, Jack shrugged and pushed it.

The effect was immediate. A loud alarm began to go off and the lights in the cabin began to blink mauve. The engine shuddered to life and then quit again with an ominous grinding and thump. _Well,_ thought Jack, _if that didn't get their attention, I don't know what will._ Jack hunkered down in what he guessed was the captain's seat and waited to see what would happen.

Outside the ship, Rupert had been wondering what the hell had happened to his companion. First the man tries to lure him into bed and then he abandons him in the face of certain death. He felt he could now say definitively that he did not like Jack Harkness.

Just as one of the aliens lunged at him with its claw-like hands, a klaxon went off in the ship and lights that seemed somewhat purple to Rupert began to flash. Five of the six aliens turned to their ship in alarm, while momentum defeated the lunging alien; as he tried to turn to see the ship, he lost his footing and fell quite hard. If possible, the aliens looked even more angry now; Rupert had a feeling it had something to do with the sound of their engine dying. Turning back to him, rather than prolong the fight, the alien who seemed to be in charge lifted a weapon and fired.

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	3. A Small Miscommunication

**The Flirt, the Watcher and the Warehouse**

**Chapter 3**

**A Small Miscommunication**

Rupert was thrown back, as the extraterrestrial taser knocked him out cold.

Leaving Rupert lying on the floor, the Arktans entered their ship. The Arktan captain rushed over to the console and switched off the alarm, before turning around and glaring at Jack.

"Hi," offered Jack. "Welcome to Earth. 'Klaatu barada nikto.'"

No response.

Jack decided to try again in Greinis, although, if he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that his Greinis was very rusty, and before becoming rusty it had still been pretty awful.

"_Hello,_" repeated Jack in Greinis. "_Welcome to Earth._" He decided not to be a wise-ass this time and left the last part off.

_"Oh, good,"_ said one of the aliens to another, _"someone on this planet speaks our language … sort of."_

Jack had only gotten about half of that response, but decided to plow on ahead. _"Well, if you dashing men could do me a favor, I would really appreciate it if you could tell me what you are doing on Earth. You should know that this planet has protectors."_

_"What did he say?"_ asked one of the Arktans.

_"I'm not sure,"_ answered the captain in sotto voce. _"Something about pipe-cleaners and fast food." _Turning to Jack, the captain shouted _"WHAT?"_ very loudly, hoping the sheer volume of his question would breach the language barrier.

Jack got the point. Putting on his most winsome smile and amping up his pheromone emission, Jack said very slowly in what some might call Greinis — although that would really be stretching it — _"Why are you here?"_

_"This is our ship,"_ replied the captain slowly. _"Why are you here?"_

_"I live here,"_ said Jack.

"_No, you don't,"_ said the captain, slowly shaking his head, thinking this man was obviously crazy.

_"Yes."_

_"No. This is our ship."_

_"Oh,"_ said Jack, finally understanding. _"I live on this planet. Why are you on this planet?"_

_"We crashed,"_ said the captain.

_"I don't know that word,"_ said Jack apologetically.

_"We fell … from the sky,"_ emended the captain.

_"Well, I'm Jack Harkness."_ There was a lengthy pause, as Jack looked from side to side, waiting for the appropriate response. Realizing that he would not be receiving one, Jack prompted, _"And you are?"_

_"Captain Malis Gibsor,"_ answered the other captain grudgingly.

_"Well, Malis, it is very nice to meet you,"_ said Jack stretching forth his hand while somewhat waggling his hips.

In response, Malis raised his weapon and asked again, _"Why are you on our ship?"_

_"Because I live here,"_ answered Jack.

_"No, our ship, not this planet,"_ motioned Malis, becoming increasingly frustrated — something you do not want a man holding a gun to be.

_"Oh, sorry," _said Jack, _"well, I and my partner — that cute man out there who I really hope is not dead, because I was planning to show him the time of his life this weekend — we came here to disassemble your ship. It's been making people crazy."_

_"You want to lick our ship?"_ asked Malis incredulously.

_"Yes,"_ replied Jack, surprised at how well the other captain was taking this.

_"No, you can't,"_ said Malis calmly, cocking his head slightly to the side.

_"But we really need to,"_ urged Jack.

_"I don't think you do,"_ said Malis.

_"It's making people crazy though,"_ said Jack.

_"Perhaps you should go on medication,"_ reasoned Malis, slowly so the madman on his bridge would be sure to understand him.

_"Medication won't help these people, destroying your ship will."_

_"YOU WANT TO DESTROY MY SHIP?!"_ asked Malis, horrified.

_"Yes,"_ said Jack, finding himself much calmer now that Malis was freaking out. This was what he had been expecting from the beginning.

Captain Malis was done — with this man, this conversation, all of it. _"Grab him,"_ said Malis to his men. They surged forward to grab Jack, who began throwing punches left and right.

Jack succeeded in knocking down one of the aliens, but was soon overwhelmed. He felt darkness descend as he was hit hard in the back of the head.

~ x ~ x ~

Rupert Giles could kill Linton Travers. If it weren't for Linton Travers, Rupert would not be in the mess he was in now. He would be at home—with a tea, a good book, maybe a lady-friend. He certainly would not be being held captive in an abandoned warehouse that smelled strongly of urine and rotten seafood in Cardiff, Wales.

Additionally, he was very worried about Captain Harkness. As Rupert had only been hit with the alien equivalent of a stun-gun, he felt all right now. His pulse was steady and he had regained consciousness a short time later — as far as he knew. The captain, however, was still unconscious and there was a pool of blood beneath the man. Rupert knew that head wounds tended to bleed like the dickens as the cranial area was very vascular, containing a web of crisscrossing veins, but this was too much. The man was very pale and looked like death warmed over. Jack's chest was barely moving. Wait. _Was_ it moving?

Rupert began to wiggle closer to Jack, angling his back against Jack's back enough so that he could somewhat grab Jack's hand. He didn't have enough range of motion to untie Jack's hands, but he could certainly feel for a pulse — and he didn't feel one. Rupert let his head hang down and sighed sadly. The man was annoying — without a doubt — but he didn't deserve to die for that, maybe just get maimed. This couldn't be the same man in the photo from 1934; that man couldn't die.

All of a sudden, Jack jolted forward with a rattling gasp, a gasp full of pain, anguish, shock, dismay and even some surprise.

"Jack," asked Rupert softly, thanking the Powers that he had been wrong. Clearly his limited range of motion had caused him to miss the man's radial artery; Jack had not been dead. "Jack, are you all right?"

"Ugh, fine," said Jack.

"I thought you were dead," said Rupert, laughing at himself a bit.

"I was." Jack felt Rupert stiffen a bit. "Don't worry; I do that. Also, two questions."

"Yes," replied Rupert.

"One: Where are we?"

"We're still in the warehouse," answered Rupert. "The aliens subdued us and tied us up. We are in a small room off of the main area."

"OK," said Jack, wincing as he nodded his head. "Two: Are you holding my hand?"

"No, no," said Rupert, sidling away from Jack. "I was checking for a pulse."

"Oh, because it seemed like we were holding hands," said Jack. "I mean, I wasn't complaining. It was nice. Maybe when we get out of this, we can hold hands a little more, maybe hold some other things … I'm very good with my hands."

"That's enough," snapped Rupert. "You can flirt with me later; right now we have to focus on getting out of this room. Any ideas?" he asked the man bound next to him.

"Well, some," said Jack, winking as he said it, "but none that would get us out of this situation … although they do involve the restraints."

Rupert just rolled his eyes and settled himself in to think, both about what had gotten the two of them into this situation and about possible modes of escape. "Any ideas?" asked Rupert again bravely, after he kept hitting mental walls.

"No," said Jack glumly.

"What do you know about the aliens?"

"They're Arktans," answered Jack, "but that doesn't really help us. Arktans are remarkably like us. There's no nugget of knowledge that's going to help us win this thing."

"They didn't seem to speak English," prompted Rupert.

"No, they speak Greinis," answered Jack. "I don't really speak the language." Jack chuckled. "We tried to communicate, but there were some issues. You know, I can ask where the library is, or the bathroom, or the nearest brothel, but I can't really explain that the radiation from their ship is causing locals to go crazy."

"Yes, language-learning courses always leave out the important things," Rupert said dryly.

The two men sat in silence for some time until Rupert felt Jack suddenly go slack, falling against Rupert's back.

"Captain Harkness, are you all right?" asked Rupert, unable to see his companion. "Can you hear me?"

"I'm fine," responded Jack, sounding quite well. "I just thought of a way to get us out of these ropes."

"I already tried," said Rupert. "We can't move our hands enough to untie each other."

"Who said anything about using my hand?" asked Jack. "Did I forget to tell you that I have a very skilled mouth?"

"You seem to have left that out," said Rupert, before falling silent as he felt Jack's teeth on his wrist. His day just kept getting stranger and stranger. Before long, Rupert felt the ropes slacken and he began to wiggle his hands to get them free.

"Stop that," mumbled Jack around a mouthful of rope.

"Sorry," muttered Rupert, sitting still again.

"Voila!" exclaimed Jack as the ropes fell away. "Now get me." Before moving to untie Jack, Rupert leaned forward and untied his own feet; he then untied Jack's feet. "Um, my hands are still tied," reminded Jack.

"I know," replied Rupert, "but, if we need to run, you'll want your feet untied. You can't run with your hands."

"For your information, I used to be in a traveling circus," Jack shot back.

Once all the rope had been thrown to the side, both men stood up and stretched. The hours they had spent on the floor, with their hands tied behind their backs, had left them sore and, in Rupert's case, somewhat cranky.

Without even needing to communicate, both men moved toward the door, slowly and cautiously. Neither man knew what was on the other side of that door; they knew the spaceship was there, but as for the aliens — they could be anywhere. Jack eased the door open and stuck his head around it. He breathed a sigh of relief; there was no sign of the six Arktans in the warehouse.

"All clear," he said, swinging the door open wide.

"Hmm," frowned Rupert, pulling off his glasses to clean them with his shirt — which was much dirtier than his glasses had been.

"I don't like the sound of that 'hmm,'" said Jack. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," said Rupert, "it's just that, if they aren't here, then they're out there, among the humans."

Jack just laughed. "Typical Earthman. Oh no, the aliens are going to get me. Tell me something, Rupes, does your arse feel sore?"

"What?!" replied Rupert, too shocked to say more.

"No?" continued Jack.

"No," said Rupert shortly.

"Yeah, then I doubt they probed you," said Jack with a wry grin. "They aren't here to experiment on people or anything. They crash-landed. They just want to fix their ship and leave. It's not some giant, alien conspiracy. I don't even think they're aware of what their ship is doing to the local populace."

Chagrinned, Rupert silently made his way over to the spaceship. "Is there some way to shut it off?" asked Rupert. "Earlier you spoke of disassembling it …"

"Well, I've been thinking about it," said Jack, "and I'm not sure we should."

"It's making people crazy," Rupert gently reminded. "Two people have died already."

"I know," said Jack, "but hear me out. All they want is to go home. If we sabotage their ship, they'll kill us and just start over and then we're back at square one. I think we should help them fix their ship so they can get off this planet."

"Surely you're joking."

"When I was on their ship, I noticed that they've been sending out a distress call since they crashed," said Jack. "No one has responded. Do you have any idea how terrible it feels to be stranded somewhere and feel abandoned? Do you know how lonely it is? They are so far from home that they can't even see any familiar stars. Maybe all they really need is someone to say, 'Here I am. I see you. I'll help you.' Someone who will help fix their ship … a ship surgeon. A Doctor. I want to be that person."

Although he was not unmoved by Jack's plea, Rupert still had his reservations. "But what about the people of this planet whom we have sworn to protect? What about them?"

"I think they can last one more day," said Jack, before heading back inside the ship.

Rupert remained outside the ship, looking at his feet and feeling ashamed. He had always lied to himself and said that he was different from everyone else at the Council, he had told himself that he cared about people. After his dip into the dark side, he knew that not all demons were evil; some were just normal guys trying to live semi-normal lives. And yet, he had not even considered the idea that perhaps these aliens were not monsters. Could he really continue to claim that he was different from the Council? He needed to be different from them and he knew it. Problems never just had one solution. Sure, they could kill the aliens and destroy the ship — problem solved. But was that the best solution? Or was the best solution something that was helpful rather than harmful? One day, if he ever got to train a Slayer, he would make certain that she knew the difference.

Rupert was about to follow his new partner onto the ship when Jack returned, smiling. Jack opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, Rupert interrupted him. "You're right, Jack. We need to help them. I need to help them. I shouldn't have behaved so priggishly. Sometimes I forget that other people are not just notations on my reports for work. I am willing to do anything to help get the Arktans back in the sky. Just tell me what to do."

"Well," said Jack, mulling over what Rupert had just said to them, "I think you need to drop your pants."

"What?" asked Rupert, less irate than usual. He was unfortunately becoming somewhat accustomed to the other man.

"You said to tell you what to do," said Jack defensively.

"To help the Arktans," said Rupert, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well, come with me."

"No," said Rupert, "I want to help them, not have sex with you."

"Yeah," said Jack slowly. "And to help them, we need to leave. I know why they can't get their ship to fly. One of their power converters was damaged in the crash and they've tried to patch it, but it's no good. They need a new one, which you can't just get anywhere on this planet."

"But you know where one is," said Rupert, beginning to grin.

"Yeah, back at Torchwood," said Jack. "It won't be an exact fit, but it should get the job done."

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	4. Lift Off!

**The Flirt, the Watcher and the Warehouse**

**Chapter 4**

**Lift Off!**

Rupert stood staring, mouth agape, at the small store that stood before him. When Jack had taken him to the plass, he had been somewhat surprised, but now he was just flummoxed. "You run a secret, alien-fighting organization out of a tourist shop?"

"Yeah, kind of," said Jack sheepishly. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." And with that, Jack entered the shop and disappeared. Rupert leaned against the building, hoping Jack wouldn't be gone for too long. He didn't want any of Jack's coworkers to wonder what he was doing loitering outside their secret headquarters.

~ x ~ x ~

"So, what's the plan?" asked Rupert, cradling the power converter to his chest. He was back outside the warehouse, beside Jack. They could hear the Arktans inside the warehouse and Rupert suddenly felt very nervous. He had been eager to help them, as long as he remained in the shadows, but he didn't really feel like having a conversation with them — especially as neither he nor Jack spoke Greinis.

"We go talk to them," said Jack.

Rupert had to resist the urge to slap his palm over his face.

"Come on," sighed Jack, rolling his eyes. The two men crept closer to the warehouse. "I say we go in the front door and be upfront about everything. We learned during our last encounter that they don't like it when we sneak around."

Before Rupert even had a chance to respond, Jack stood up straight, marched over to the warehouse doors, and flung them open.

"Hello, hello," called Jack loudly, and then again in Greinis.

"_He's back,"_ said Malis Gibsor disbelievingly. As Malis cocked his head to the side, the six Arktans in the warehouse raised their weapons.

"_We are your friends,"_ said Jack in what he hoped was passing Greinis.

"_Friends don't destroy each other's ships,"_ replied Malis.

"_Oh no, we're done with that,"_ said Jack. With that, Malis turned to look at Rupert, who straightened up and waved weakly.

"_What do you want?"_ asked Malis grudgingly.

"_We have brought a peace offering,"_ said Jack, motioning to Rupert.

"_We don't want him,"_ said Malis, mimicking Jack and motioning to Rupert.

"_It will make your ship go,"_ argued Jack.

"_No,"_ said Malis, pinching the bridge of his nose and finding that nagging headache returning. _"Fuel makes our ship go."_

"_Along with a working converter,"_ pushed Jack.

"_Why would we need a working pillow? And how does a pillow not work?"_

"_Um, it could break, or overheat."_

"_Is that a problem on this planet?"_ asked Malis, not having realized what a dangerous and dysfunctional planet this was.

"_No, but it's your problem,"_ said Jack.

"Please just stop, Jack," said Rupert, feeling the need to interject. Although he couldn't understand what they were saying, he could certainly read facial expressions and both Jack and the alien captain looked perplexed, to say the least. Also, the Arktans were still pointing their weapons at Rupert and Jack.

"Here," said Rupert in English, slowly and loudly. "Take this converter, fix your ship, and leave." With that, Rupert held out the converter and raised an eyebrow.

Malis reached forward hesitantly and took the converter from Rupert._ "This should fit our ship," _said Malis, eyeing Rupert appraisingly.

"It is for you," said Rupert.

"_Thank you,"_ Malis said to Rupert in Greinis, slowly and loudly._ "Now take your idiot and leave."_

Rupert just nodded and smiled for a moment, before turning to Jack. "What did he say?"

"He said 'thank you' and then told you to take … something and leave," Jack replied.

"He probably wants me to take you. He does not like you." Turning to Malis, Rupert said a short farewell. He then grabbed Jack by the arm and led him out of warehouse. Turning back a moment later, he saw that the warehouse doors were again closed. "What now?"

"Now we wait for them to fix their ship and leave," said Jack. "I say we stay here until they leave, just to make sure it happens."

"The sooner the better," agreed Rupert.

"But," said Jack, "we have some time. It will take them at least an hour to install that converter. I say we head over to that pub over there and see where the afternoon takes us."

Sitting down on a garbage bin across from the warehouse and crossing his arms, Rupert said, "Let's not."

"Oh, you're no fun," said Jack.

"I'm plenty of fun — just not that kind of fun."

Sighing, Jack sat next to Rupert — perhaps a little too close to Rupert. After about 10 minutes of silence, Jack could not take it anymore. "Want to play a game?"

"I already said I didn't," replied Rupert.

"Not that kind of game," said Jack, "although I want you to feel free to tell me the second you change your mind. How about geography?"

"Fine," replied Rupert. What ensued was one of the lengthiest and most infuriating games of geography either of them had ever played and probably would ever play. Jack felt a blush rise every time Rupert named a place he had never heard of and Rupert became incensed every time Jack tried to sneak in a made-up place name.

"For the last time, you cannot simply fabricate place names," argued Rupert.

"For the last time, I'm not," replied Jack. "Jsowarfibu is a place … in the future."

"The point of the game is to use pre-existing places," said Rupert, "that way I can tell if you're cheating."

"Well, I think you're cheating," said Jack. "Who ever heard of Majuro?"

"How many times do I have to tell you it's the capital of the Marshall Islands?"

"So you say; we have no way of checking."

"It's called an atlas," said Rupert. "We can get one."

"At my apartment?" suggested Jack.

"You're killing me," sighed Rupert. "Let's just return to silence."

And they did. They sat in silence, for the most part. Every 10 minutes or so, Jack would attempt to start a conversation or have sex with Rupert, but Rupert rebuffed all attempts.

All of a sudden, they heard a loud, low hum.

"That must be their engine," said Jack, suddenly serious as he stopped trying to get his arm around Rupert's waist.

Both men stared at the warehouse, waiting to see the ship lift off. Rupert thought he saw a disturbance in the air at one point, but he didn't see the ship.

"If it's fixed, why didn't they leave?" asked Rupert.

Jack strode to the warehouse and pulled open the door, revealing the empty space. "They did leave; they just had to disguise the ship. We wouldn't want all of Wales to see an alien ship taking off."

"They cloaked it, like on 'Star Trek,'" said Rupert.

"Well, aren't you just adorable," replied Jack, grabbing Rupert's arse before walking off.

~ x ~ x ~

It had been three weeks since Rupert returned to London. Linton Travers had been insufferable ever since. Rupert had truly considered telling Travers the truth about the Arktans and Torchwood and Jack, but at the last minute decided not to. Instead, he typed a typical report about typical toxins in the water and told Travers a typical, yawn-inducing story.

As frustrating as most of his time in Cardiff had been, looking back, Rupert had had fun. After wrapping up the case, he relented and allowed Jack to take him to a pub. He got a beer and Jack got water and the two of them stayed up until late the next morning discussing everything that had happened. They had both thrown their non-disclosure agreements to the wind and answered any questions the other might have.

Rupert told Jack all about the Council and the Slayers, regaling him with Giles family stories about previous Slayers. He told him about how much he hated Travers and how he knew he would never get a Slayer if he continued this way. Jack had wisely reminded him that there was a difference between walking the party line and believing the party line.

In return Rupert listened to some of Jack's troubles. Rupert could not even imagine dying and being left behind on an evil game station. Maybe Jack thought Rupert would feel badly enough that he would fall into bed with him. It didn't work, but Rupert did let Jack sit right next to him while telling the story.

When Rupert left Cardiff, he and Jack promised to keep in touch, although both knew they wouldn't. If Rupert ever came across another alien, he would certainly reach out and if Jack ever came across a demon, he would ring Rupert. And that was good enough for both of them.

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